


Morning Fuzziness

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Sabriel, Fluff, Hangover, M/M, Tickling, Ticklish Castiel, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-hunt celebration leads to a disheveled morning after.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <i>Cas swallowed at the thick feeling in his throat. He started to turn onto his side, but an unexpected sensation aborted the movement. A bleary glance toward his shoulder brought into focus the upper ridge of a wing huddled under the sheets. That shouldn’t be there. “…Why’re my wingsout?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You said something about wavelengths and a lot of other words I didn’t really understand, but according to Gabe it was hilarious. I couldn’t get you to put them away before you fell asleep." Dean started running his fingers through the angel’s disheveled hair, which was only outmatched in unruliness by the dark wings the blankets were slipping down to reveal. The feathers were all out of alignment, pointing just about every direction except the one they were supposed to. The hunter tried not to laugh. “God, you’re a wreck.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Fuzziness

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this adorable little sketch on Tumblr](http://aromulanongallifrey.tumblr.com/post/100344308590/bitterowls-your-feathers-are-a-mess) and the phrase "sleepy tickles."
> 
> Originally posted Dec 2013 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/70724611712/morning-fuzziness).

“ _Christ_ , Cas, you look a mess.”

The angel started awake. He squinted, then pulled his arm out from between his chest and the mattress, wincing at the needling feeling as blood flow returned, and wiped groggily at his eye with a faint sniffle. “Mmwhat?”

Dean was laying next to him, on his back with one arm nestled behind his head, looking far too awake and amused for whatever hour Cas supposed this was meant to be. The hunter snorted lightly. “How ya feelin’?”

Cas groaned into the pillow.

Last night was a bit of a blur. Castiel remembered how they’d finally killed off an obstinate trio of witches, and Dean had insisted on celebrating the lack of bodily fluids he was soaked in this time, and then Gabriel had stopped by, and that’s when everything started to get foggy.

Dean was chuckling. “I have no idea what the hell kinda drink Gabe conjured up for you, but I think it did its job.”

"I… shouldn’tuv lost consciousness frummadrink," the angel mumbled.

"You didn’t," Dean grinned. "Not for a good - long, fun, debaucherous - while, anyhow."

The angel squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to recall something,  _anything_ , from last night. “I… broke a lamp.”

Dean was rolling on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

Castiel glowered sleepily. “How come you’re so-” he paused to search hazily for the right word - “aroused?”

A snort. “ _Awake_ , you mean?”

“ _Nngh_.”

"For one, I kept a ten-foot buffer between me and that fizzy glowing shit you were drinking. And I cut myself off when I realized I had to make sure you didn’t get too carried away, ‘cuz Sammy and Gabe sure as hell weren’t gonna help keep  _that_  crazy train from derailing.”

Cas swallowed at the thick feeling in his throat. He started to turn onto his side, but an unexpected sensation aborted the movement. A bleary glance toward his shoulder brought into focus the upper ridge of a wing huddled under the sheets.  _That shouldn’t be there._  “…Why’re my wingsout?”

"You said something about wavelengths and a lot of other words I didn’t really understand, but according to Gabe it was hilarious. I couldn’t get you to put them away before you fell asleep." Dean started running his fingers through the angel’s disheveled hair, which was only outmatched in unruliness by the dark wings the blankets were slipping down to reveal. The feathers were all out of alignment, pointing just about every direction except the one they were supposed to. The hunter tried not to laugh. “God, you’re a wreck.”

Cas kept his wings folded but tilted them up away from his back in a tentative stretch. They shuddered and he grimaced.

"You ok?"

"They weren’t designed to be slept on," Cas grumbled.

Dean eyed the uncomfortable-looking disarray of feathers. “Do you want some help getting things back in order?”

Castiel nearly declined, but a moment’s thought convinced him otherwise. He was embarrassed, but Dean had already seen him in more compromising situations; the most recent, and possibly among the worst, he assumed to be mere hours ago. He nodded.

"C’mere." Dean sat up and knelt by the angel’s side, brushing the bedsheets away. He reached for the closest wing and gently pulled it outward, being mindful to not force its extension too quickly. Exploiting the sensitivity of Cas’ wings, in a never-ending variety of ways, was one of his favorite activities, but he’d never seen them such a mess and figured they had to be bordering on painful in this state. His grip moved to the joints, massaging carefully to loosen any stiffness before unfolding the wing to its full span.

Cas grunted, then sighed as the hunter’s hands went to work.

Dean started at the bottom edge closest to the angel’s back, straightening the secondaries and untwisting the shafts as best he could. Several were kinked beyond repair, with two or three actually snapped and broken. When he asked, Cas mumbled to dispose of them, so he braced one hand cautiously at the base of the quill and gave a sharp tug. Castiel cringed each time, but muttered assurances that he was alright.

Each discarded feather was laid aside for safekeeping. Dean lifted and resettled and smoothed, brushing barbs back into place to eliminate unsightly notches. A few times when he slipped his fingers under a particularly stubborn feather, the wing would flinch and he’d catch a glimpse of an upward tug at the angel’s lips. He smiled to himself and kept working, but may have tossed in a couple more flicks of his fingers than strictly necessary.

He continued up into the coverts, carding them into position. Several had to be plucked, but most were in fairly good shape. It was tedious work, although the drowsy little sighs of contentment coming from the body below were excellent encouragement.

When he reached the top ridge, he smoothed over it with his palm, then traced over the edge with his fingertips. The wing flexed and a sleepy giggle trickled out. Dean decided that may have been the cutest sound he’d ever heard. So he did it again.

"Dehean…" Cas murmured with a lethargic smile. "You’re tickling."

"Was I?" Dean asked innocently. He moved over to the primaries and began arranging them, purposely wiggling them a little as he went. The angel squirmed and hummed. "Seems like you don’t mind too much."

"You’re taking advantage of my current state," Cas purred languidly.

Dean patted the last feather into place and guided the wing closed. “And what state is that?” He climbed over Cas’ back to kneel at his other side, shooing him over a little to make more room at the edge of the bed.

Castiel wormed over with a soft grunt of effort. “M’sleepy. And I still feel… fuzzy.”

The hunter barked a laugh. “Well, whatever Gabriel had was actually  _sparking_ , so I’m sure you’re not the only one with a little angelic hangover this morning.” He set to work on Cas’ other wing.

"I shouldn’t be capable of anything resembling a ‘hangover,’" the angel complained. He twitched and giggled when Dean’s fingers ruffled a group of feathers.

"I’m gonna assume that when a trickster-archangel whips up a cocktail, it makes a lot of things possible." Dean suddenly frowned, remembering something. "Oh, shit, I hope Sammy’s okay."

"Hmm?"

"Gabe convinced him to try a sip, I think. Stupid." He shook his head and continued untangling the soft shafts.

Six more had to be pulled out by the time he got to smoothing the last of the flight feathers. He wove his fingers down between the long quills and dragged his hand through them like a comb, smirking when the wing trembled with a shiver. Dean turned his attention to Cas’ face and watched the angel’s small dopey smile grow steadily as Dean carded repeatedly through the feathers.

"Somebody’s enjoying their little ‘morning delight,’" the hunter teased. He reached up to the wing’s arch and wiggled his fingers under the edge.

Cas’ giggle was thick with sleep and relaxation. He fidgeted into the pillow and spread both wings wide in clear solicitation.

Dean didn’t have to be asked twice. He lifted one leg over Castiel’s back to straddle his waist and buried his hands in the down close to Cas’ shoulders.

The angel arched up into the touch with a keening sigh. Dean’s eyebrows jumped up. He knew this felt good, but Cas wasn’t usually so vocal. Maybe “fuzzy” was a code word for “residual lack of inhibitions.” When he curled his fingers down into the warm flesh, Cas shivered and purred his name.  _Wow_. He’d have to get Gabriel to tell him what the hell was in that drink, and maybe some dosage instructions.

He caressed lightly over the freshly-smoothed surface, tracing the shapes of individual feathers and letting his fingers catch on the edges. The sound Castiel made was nearly obscene, and Dean forced himself to stop and take a breath. He knew he needed to back off, or things were going to get out of hand very quickly. Regardless of how much fun that could be, he still wanted to get around to breakfast. 

Cas growled in disappointment when Dean’s hands stilled. He reached back and grabbed demandingly at the hunter’s knees planted on either side of him.

"Hey," Dean laughed in surprise. "Thought you were tired."

Cas grumbled incoherently and squeezed his kneecaps. Dean stifled a yelp. When he kneaded at Cas’ wings in retaliation, another languid giggle escaped.  _Man_ , that was adorable. He didn’t want to rouse the angel too much, but slipped his hands under the wings and started softly tickling at the joint where they met his back.

That triggered feeble writhing as Cas started streaming low, bubbling laughter. Normally, he’d probably squeal and flap at Dean, but his lingering “fuzziness” was like a thick, warm blanket that he was unwilling to throw off just yet. The hunter’s fingertips traveled up the underside of his wings, incredibly light and teasing. He squirmed and flexed but made no actual move to escape - he usually couldn’t stand Dean touching there but a small part of his clouded mind admitted that something about it was remarkably pleasurable. That didn’t stop it from tickling like mad, though. His mouth sharpened into a tight grin and he grabbed fistfuls of pillow to keep his hands occupied.

It wasn’t lost on Dean how Cas was noticeably  _not_  trying to stop him. He knew Castiel possessed some pretty exceptional self-control, as evidenced by Dean’s continued existence during and after tickling the metaphorical snot out of the angel on more than one occasion. But Cas always fought back or protested in some form, and that wasn’t happening right now. Dean caught himself a microsecond before tilting his head in a familiar bird-like fashion.

He didn’t change the motion of his hands, but started pressing a bit more firmly. Cas’ laugh deepened and his wings jolted down against his back, but there was no other evasion. Dean softened his touch again, and the light, effervescent laughter returned, and most notably, the wings  _lifted_ , inviting the lighter touch despite his steady giggles.

"You are so busted," Dean smirked, without slowing his busy fingers.

Cas may have made a questioning noise, but it was hard to tell between his giggly laughter.

"You usually shove me off and act all offended, but you  _like_  this.”

The wings twitched hesitantly for a moment. “I-hehehehe… I’m not suhuhure…”

"Even if  _you’re_  not, seems like  _these_  are.” Dean ruffled the feathers pointedly. The angel squeaked but still didn’t pull away. “See, you’re not even trying.”

"Thahat doesn’t change anythihihihing…"

"Oh, yes it does."

—-

When hunter and angel finally made it into the kitchen (one a little more flushed than the other), they were greeted by their counterpart pair. Well, not exactly _greeted_. Gabriel was prodding irritably at the toaster, and Sam didn’t stir from his position at the table with his forehead propped up on one hand and three empty mugs in front of him.

Dean chuckled and opened a cabinet. “Never thought  _I’d_  be the one in the best shape the morning after.” That earned him a glare from Gabe. “Hey, it’s your own fault.”

"Just… stop talking," Sam muttered without opening his eyes.

"I’m surprised you’re even alive."

"Don’t worry, he was  _very_  well taken care of,” Gabe chimed in with an eyebrow waggle, before squinting painfully and rubbing at his forehead.

"Don’t wanna know." Dean put on a new pot of coffee to replace the one Sam had already drained. "Oh, hey - I’m gonna need the recipe for whatever you made for Cas last night," he grinned.


End file.
